


Impairment

by sailboatsupernova



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, M/M, Memory Loss, Mildly Dubious Consent, Military Fraternization, Morning After, One Night Stands, Sexual Content, as in there's no ending it just kinda stops, tfw you wake up next to a guy who's way younger than you and also your employee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-29 21:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10862187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailboatsupernova/pseuds/sailboatsupernova
Summary: A night of leave and a few glasses of booze makes familiar bedfellows.





	Impairment

**Author's Note:**

> Have a lil thing while I'm chipping out the final chapter for Sheer Delicacy.
> 
> Also I haven't read the new Thrawn book yet, so if Parck got some characterization in that beyond what was goin' on in the other previous novels, I don't know nothin' 'bout that lol.

It is not difficult to understand why the Empire makes such a point of dissuading it's militant members from alcohol consumption. The higher ups know that they cannot totally remove the substance from aboard the ships but they do monitor its depletion rates with something that would border excessive. There are tightly kept restocking schedules and limits, strategic efforts to nudge officers towards options with a lower alcohol content percentage, and the automated bartenders aboard the ships are programmed to cut someone off too early rather than too late. 

The carefulness is a danger in of itself, however. It means that the men and women on leave tend to binge just a bit. With the binging comes the irritability, the migraines, and the occasional gaps in memory that may lead to slight nervousness or complete panic come morning depending on how much one couldn't remember. _What did I do last night? Was the person flirting with me a rebel spy? Did I say something to someone I shouldn't have?_

The memory loss is what has Voss Parck the most worried upon waking up. It might be some virtue of still being horizontal, but the headache he had been expecting has yet to arrive and other than his own fears, he was feeling fairly well. It is not what he can't remember that has his stress rising though, it's what he _does_ remember. 

He remembers taking someone back to his hotel room, and he knows that they are still there. He can feel the warmth from their body, and if he concentrates hard enough he can listen through the fog in his head and hear them breathing. He remembers that the other person was a man, but that is where the hazy impressions of his memory regarding the person next to him stop. Something about that worries him - not that the other person in his bed is a man, but that he cannot remember who the man _is_. That seems like something of the utmost importance, despite his lack of reason as to why. Parck has the distinct impression that as soon as he opens his eyes something horrible is going to happen. 

He can recall the club, not how he had gotten there, but he remembers dancing with someone shortly after arriving. He knows it's the same man in his bed but no matter how hard he tries he cannot recall a face to go with the figure. It's as if someone crawled into his memory and just erased that part. He remembers holding onto the other man's waist and his hands wrapped around Parck's shoulders, but nothing more definitive than those impressions. If Parck concentrates he can dig up the sound of his voice, a deep timbre with a soft tone that should have been drowned out by the loud music of the club. The content of what was said is lost to the fragments in memory but he knows that he did not have to struggle to hear the man over the music despite him all but whispering against the shell of Parck's ear. 

Whatever they had been discussing on that dance floor, it must have included the hotel Parck was staying at - his next memory involves being shoved, his bare back hitting the mattress and a solid weight climbing over him. The thought of it sends a shiver down Parck's back, and he wonders if he should go wandering down those particular lanes of recollection. He is attempting to fake sleep until he decides what to do and he doubts getting hard will help in that endeavor, but his mind is traitorous and taking advantage of his lack of control and curiosity and it drags up another memory before he can stop it. 

The man's warm lips had pressed against his own and he'd tasted of some heady liquor that made Parck groan, and he remembers how that flavor had intensified when the man parted his lips and lapped his tongue into Parck's mouth. He had been fascinated with the man's mouth in his intoxicated state, captivated by the unfamiliar textures and reactions of the other man as he kissed him back. If he hadn't been so drunk he might have recognized the distraction for what it was - he hadn't even felt the man's hand angling him, until he had sat back and taken every inch of the Captain inside him with a tremble and a gasp. Before Parck could think to do anything hands grabbed his wrists and pinned his arms down near his head, and any subsequent effort was forgotten as the man bounced on his cock. 

He remembers the sweat glistening on the body above him, the heat and the tightness of him, how the faceless man had let his head loll backwards as he moaned prettily, voice still as deep as an ocean but no longer soft. Parck had wanted to sit up then, press his lips to the exposed arch of neck and taste his skin. He remembers the sound of skin as it slapped together, their individual gasps mingling, never being sure which of them where crying out the loudest and Parck had stared up at the figure above him, feeling the hot tightness of his body and the clench of his hands on his wrists and wondered if he would just give out beneath the force of the pleasure.

When the man had finally let him go it was only out of his own desperation - his hands had flown from Parck's own, one landed behind himself for balance and the other wrapped around his own leaking cock. Parck knows that he had spoken then, his hands reaching out and grabbing the other man's waist, rising and falling along with his frantic motions, _"That's it, baby, you're right there,"_ and evidently he had been - those had been the words that had the man spurting in his own hand.

It had been that vision that had tipped Parck over the edge: the sight of the man's head tossed back as he cried out wordlessly, voice cracked with the force of it, hand working himself desperately until completion. In comparison, Parck could hardly even remember his own orgasm, other than that he had been convinced for a few short seconds that he had died. 

Every bit of the memory is traitorous. Every inch of him is fighting it, but all Parck wants is that final piece of the puzzle, he wants that last part that will cement that scene in his head forever. He has to know - despite every fiber of his being insisting that he is wrong and that he  _doesn't want to know._  He must know what the man looks like.

He inhales a steadying breath and gathers what little resolve he can with the pounding of his own blood in his ears, and Parck lets his eyes slide open as he turns his head to the side. 

The first thing he notices is blue, mainly since that's what the man is. Parck's eyes trail over his skin, stopping to focus on the occasional mouth or hand shaped bruise. Even the man's messy hair seems to have a blue tint to it in the early dawn light that is creeping in through the hotel window. He's beautiful and gorgeous and if Parck was anyone else the man beside him could easily be considered within the range of "best case scenario" for this situation. 

He recognizes the man instantly as Ensign Thrawn - the alien that had only recently been allowed into the Empire, who Parck had been attempting to take under his wing in an effort to teach him what he could and get both himself and the crew more comfortable with the blue man - and Parck's stomach drops. His brain would have kicked him if it could - _I told you so_ , it mocked as he stared, wide-eyed, at the alien. Parck doesn't know what to do and the sudden panic flooding his system nor the voice shouting _"You fucked your subordinate!"_  in his head are doing him any favors. The fraternization codes he has violated mentally pile up as he measures the distance between their ranks and while he cannot know how the alien's species age, Thrawn himself does not look old enough to fall within Parck's own age bracket. 

As a final slap in the face, Parck's brain fills in the blanks in his memory with a face and a name, and the realization that he knows what Thrawn looks like when he comes has Parck biting the inside of his cheek. No longer was it some faceless humanoid shape, but Thrawn who had been riding his dick like his life depended on it. The realization has him sitting up, nervous energy finally converting into movement, and he sits back against the wall where a headboard should be. 

Parck's stress at the situation did nothing to quell his growing embarrassment. In some ways this had been someone he had tried to start mentoring and _damn it all_ , Thrawn had been one of the few officers under his command that he had actually _liked_. If last night had ruined what small connection Parck had been nursing between them then he wasn't sure if he'd forgive himself. 

There's a shift in the mattress and Parck glances over to see Thrawn move on the bed and his red eyes crack open. Parck meets those eyes and refuses to let himself look away, he is determined that he will meet whatever challenge this brings head-on like a Captain, not some wet behind the ears cadet having his first alcohol-fueled romp. Parck watches silently as Thrawn opens his eyes further, as if finally realizing he was not alone in the bed. His face is still impassive, and Parck keeps his face equally blank as Thrawn studies him, determined to let the alien make the first move.

Thrawn blinks and seems to come to some conclusion, though Parck is relieved that he doesn't seem near as panicked as he did upon waking. Parck watches Thrawn as he starts moving again, rolling onto his side and propping a hand up underneath his chin to hold his head up. 

"Good morning, Captain." 

Thrawn's voice is wrecked in a way that gives up exactly what he had been doing the night before. With a sigh, Parck reaches up, closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Morning, Thrawn." 


End file.
